Bad
by Juulna
Summary: Friendzoning yourself was not fun, but she had to. Being a polyamorous woman surrounded by people who were so easy to love was a hard thing to handle—it hadn't been easy at fifteen when she'd first realized her inner self, and it seemed to just keep getting harder with age to keep all her feelings reined in. One of the many reasons she'd never once dated. [Darcy/Steve/Bucky/Tony]


"_They'll say you are bad  
__or perhaps you are mad  
__or at least you  
__should stay undercover.  
__Your mind must be bare  
__if you would dare  
__to think you can love  
__more than one lover."  
_― **David Rovics**

* * *

_Tony: Where'd you disappear to?_

_Darcy: You keeping tabs on me, Stark?_

_Tony: I mean, it was pretty obvious you'd left since I could actually hear myself think for the first time in a year._

_Darcy: I didn't know you cared!_

_Tony: Bite me, pint size. _

_Darcy: big words from a short guy_

_Tony: Rude._

_Darcy: I am a barrel of fun, I will have you know. _

_Tony: So Thor tells me._

_Tony: So where you at?_

_Darcy: As if you couldn't find out if you wanted._

_Tony: I like to keep a little mystery in my life._

_Darcy: Suuuuuuure._

_Tony: Okay._

_Tony: Fine._

_Tony: What's with the cabin in Bumfuck Nowhere, Ontario?_

_Darcy: You only wish._

_Tony: …_

_Tony: Yeah, k, fine. Point._

_Darcy: uhhuh. _

_Darcy: Used to be my parent's. I used to think I'd sell it but apparently it grew on me over the years. Who knew the power of childhood memories was so strong? I could write a Lifetime movie about it or some shit. Or something by Wes Craven. It could go either way._

_Tony: I see you._

_Darcy: I know._

_Darcy: *heart*_

_Darcy: Anyway._

_Darcy: I come up here every now and then. It does me some good to get away from the insanity._

_Tony: I wouldn't know._

_Darcy. Of course not._

_Darcy: you wouldn't know sanity if it bit you on the ass._

_Tony: Kinky._

_Darcy: Absolutely._

_Darcy: When's the last time you had a vacation?_

_Darcy: And not one of those rich people vacations, because fuck that. _

_Darcy: Tony?_

_Darcy: Okay, so, never._

_Tony: A vacation sounds nice._

_Darcy: you would like it up here._

_Darcy: it's really beautiful and quiet but still has internet and tv and stuff. Even a workshop out back._

_Darcy: Tony?_

_Darcy: Why is there a quinjet landing outside my cabin._

_Darcy: That better be Maria, not you, because at least she would give me some lovin'._

_Darcy: Tony WHAT THE FUCK_

* * *

Darcy Lewis was blessed.

For a long time, she hadn't been.

But then… well, then she'd met Jane, swiftly followed by Erik Selvig, then Thor. And then within months of _that_, the Avengers had piled on her like it was a scrum in a damn rugby game.

It was crazy.

She had once thought her life was weird even before she met Jane. Born in Israel, raised in Canada, parents dead from a hit and run before high school, and then she'd had to move to Virginia to live with her grandparents. She'd aimed for a political science degree in an attempt to normalize her life and make sense of her global connections, but instead had somehow ended up among the stars.

Literally and figuratively.

Astronomy and astrophysics were decidedly not her thing, but she couldn't imagine her life any other way now, especially once she became part of what she'd fondly dubbed the Avengers Family.

She wouldn't trade it for the world.

Yeah, sure, she was still working her butt off most of the time, being the good gopher she was, but she'd found her own thing, somehow, with the Avengers.

They didn't care if she didn't contribute monetarily, not anymore, but Darcy refused to take a free pass and worked hard to be useful to the team, even outside of Jane's research. She'd taken to tending to both Bruce and Tony—who, in their lab-induced trances, often forgot to eat. Or sleep. Or _bathe_. It could get a little gross sometimes, but whatever. She got it.

What she hadn't expected was that Steve and Bucky had much the same idea, though it was decidedly more focused on _one_ scientist in particular. An engineer. A physicist. A mechanic. An inventor.

Okay, so it was Tony.

Obviously.

But she and they had found common ground and cause in taking care of Tony, who apparently really _could_ use three people to feed and water him, whereas Bruce was perfectly capable of being a big boy where it mattered. Occasionally.

Conspiring with Steve and Bucky had soon led to friendship and hanging out for entirely non-Tony related reasons. Which had then led to them dragging said idiot genius out of his ocean of madness in the occasional intervention, so that he could actually watch movies and TV shows which were newer than a decade old.

His pop culture game had certainly improved, at the very least, and that seemed to please him greatly. Which pleased Darcy, Steve, and Bucky in turn.

What had _also_ improved was the friendship between the men.

It was wonderful and amazing and it made her _so _happy but there was _just one teeny, tiny problem:_

She'd fallen head over heels in love with all three of them, each idiot in their own right. _Her_ idiots.

She kept that last bit to herself at all costs; the depths of her feelings, at least. If she ever uttered the words aloud, she _always_ made sure it was clear she meant them as Friends Only. Just joking, just _teasing_, you see. And their eyes would sparkle and they'd laugh or give her a noogie or elbow her gently in the ribs and her heart would _ache_.

It_ always_ ached, these days.

Friendzoning yourself was _not_ fun, but she had to.

Being a polyamorous woman surrounded by people who were so easy to love was a hard thing to handle—it hadn't been easy at fifteen when she'd first realized her inner self, and it seemed to just keep getting harder with age to keep all her feelings reined in.

One of the many reasons she'd never once dated.

So yes, space for her and her heart to chill. Quite literally; all she had to do was step outside.

But she'd also wanted to give them some space right after enacting Phase 46 of her and Nat's plan to get them to hook up. It was important.

So she'd escaped to the last place she figured they'd know about, let alone a place they'd _want_ to follow her to.

She'd underestimated them.

Well, Tony at least.

* * *

_Why_ exactly was he here? Tony Stark was standing at her cabin door, in the middle of the woods in northern Ontario, with two damn super soldiers standing behind him and looking a little unsure of their welcome.

"What can I say?" were his first words to her. Tony shrugged. "I couldn't shake them."

"Tony," Darcy sighed. Then she deadpanned, "Those two would follow you anywhere, you don't even have to try."

Darcy could swear she saw panic in his eyes—and she easily hid the smirk that wanted to flit over her lips at that—before he just decided to barge past her instead of giving her a response.

A response to something he'd been _very_ actively avoiding for months—if not years, since he was a child, if his WWII collection was anything to go by.

"Do they even have passports?" Darcy raised both eyebrows at him as he turned to face her in the living room.

"Nope," Bucky said rather cheerily as he breezed right by her with a jaunty wave and that _smokin'_ smirk he'd regained from his youth, Steve had explained once with a bittersweet smile.

"I'm sorry, Darce, I thought he'd worked this all out with you," Steve said quietly at her shoulder.

"No, no, it's okay," she replied a little hurriedly, glad for the distraction from her thoughts. This was going to be _hell_, oh god. "Come in, it's cold out." She shooed him inside and shut the door firmly, regaining control of her expression before turning back around to follow them.

She didn't mind them showing up, honestly. But they were—all three of them—at least partially to blame for her having high-tailed it up here in the first place.

She'd both wanted to give them space and be given space by them.

Plus, after Phase 46, she had been _sure_ that they'd fall into bed together and not surface for, like, two weeks.

Apparently _not_.

For fuck's sake.

She was running out of ideas fast, and at this point the 'lock them in a shipping container and send them across the ocean' idea was looking _really_ appealing. Or just smooshing their faces together, honestly. Or both.

Hmm.

Darcy had first noticed the way they looked at each other about six months ago, not too long after she'd been herded into the Tower along with all of Jane's other things (i.e. people).

She'd planned to just live quietly—_hah_—on the fringes of the superhero group, but instead she'd found herself drawn into a world she'd never thought possible. One where she'd become loved and accepted just the way she'd told herself to outgrow wanting and desiring and dreaming about, because she knew that it was something from fairy tales, not real life.

She'd never been happier to be proven wrong.

Once she'd become accepted by the group—more like dragged in like quicksand; warm, welcoming, kind quicksand—it hadn't taken her even an ounce of her people skills to notice that Steve and Bucky, sweethearts since just before the Second World War, had a thing for Tony.

And everyone knew it except Tony.

Well, that also excluded the Brooklyn Boys—they had zero clue the lot of them were wearing their hearts on their sleeves.

Blind, the lot of them.

But they did. Have a thing, that is. Every last one of the Avengers Family could see it—even Clint, who was notoriously bad for a spy at picking up on interpersonal signs.

Darcy had immediately decided to meddle.

Of course, Natasha had soon found out her plans—_good_ sign of a spy there, _Clint_—and then it was off to the races.

_Operation Winter Iron Shield_ was put into play.

Of course, it was easier said than done. _Especially_ with these three. Getting two together, easy. She'd done it so many times, and Nat seemed to know exactly what she was doing as well. But getting two to add another? Actually fairly hard from the outside.

But that wasn't the issue.

The issue was that their targets were a bunch of blockheads.

As proven by Tony showing up at her cabin well past sunset, followed by the two hot grandpas who had all three been frustrating the fuck out of her in _so many ways_.

Because their attention on Darcy had increased of late, and it was making her uncomfortable. Not in a 'please stop, this is bordering on harassment' sort of uncomfortable. Absolutely not.

More like a '_my panties are fucking drenched'_ kind of uncomfortable. A '_I'm going to climb each one of you like a tree, one after another, and then die of embarrassment'_ kind of uncomfortable. A '_I'm going to slip up and kiss one of you idiots to shut you up and then ruin ages of work and destroy my friendship and likely your relationship(s)'_ kind of uncomfortable.

Which she did _not_ fucking need.

Darcy hadn't put this much effort into getting these three to hook up (and put everyone _else_ out of their misery as a result of it) just for her to lose control and fling herself at them.

Because no. Just… _no_.

They weren't for her, as yummy as that thought was.

No one was.

So off to the cabin she went. Cold shower? More like neverending snowbanks. It would surely do.

Or it _would have_, if they hadn't followed her here like she was the goddamn Pied Piper.

"So, do I address the fact that there's only one bed, or is that just too awkward?" Tony's voice intruded on her musings. "That is so cliché—wow, Darcy."

She rolled her eyes, just going with it—but inside she was smiling. She loved Tony.

No, really. She _loved Tony_.

She loved all three of these doorknobs, and _that_ was the numero uno reason she'd traveled half a continent away from them.

Fucking hell.

Who was she kidding? Yeah, sure, she'd wanted to give them space to hook up and realize they all loved each other—blockheads, just as she'd said before—but she needed to be honest with herself and admit the real reason she'd come all the way to Hudson's Bay:

She hadn't trusted herself to be fully and truly happy for them once they _did_ finally hook up. Darcy hadn't been sure her heart could take it, to see the three men she loved finally unite.

Without her.

Fuck.

Couldn't the universe have granted her a few weeks out of pity?

"And this is why you ask if you can come visit, Mr. Iron Ass," Darcy retorted, finally, after making sure she wasn't about to tear up and covering it with fussing with her sadly empty indoor propane heater. "You can take the bed with the guys. It's big enough to fit all of you."

A weak attempt, but…

Darcy barely avoided narrowing her eyes at Tony as he seemed to internally panic and backpedaled immediately. "Nope, I'm good, even I know enough about chivalry not to take your bed from you."

"Tony—"

"And it is _not_ because you are a woman, but because it's your place and we dropped by unannounced. See? Chivalry." He looked at Steve and Bucky for support, and his lips curled the rest of the way up into a smile when they gave him nods from where they'd plonked themselves down on the large sectional.

"There's the couch and the rug in front of the fireplace," Darcy offered, trying not to sound tentative, unsure of herself. She crossed her arms beneath her chest, and shored herself up a little more. Everything would be fine. "We can figure it out, but for now I need more firewood before the storm hits. Who's helping me?"

As Bucky and Steve bickered over who would help her—just like an old married couple, they were _adorable_—Darcy relaxed, smiling to herself.

Yeah, this would be fine. So Phase 46 hadn't worked out. That was okay. She could easily adapt her plans. Phase 46b required only minor adjustments.

_Ha,_ she thought. _Take that, Jane, I __**have **__learned how to science. _

It would work. She hoped. Maybe.

For Pete's sake, they were in a cabin in the woods with nothing much better to do than get in each other's personal space. She could get the boys to admit their feelings and intentions towards Tony, and Tony could finally feel safe to tell them how he felt about the couple.

She could do this.

What could go wrong?

* * *

So far, so good.

It had only been a few hours, but Darcy would absolutely qualify said few hours as a success.

First, she'd spent half an hour outside with Steve, helping him more than him helping _her_ cut wood, but she supposed that was par for the course when one had a super soldier or two over to visit.

"Darce," he'd laughed, holding the ax above his head, _completely_ out of her reach, and holding her off with the other gloved hand. "I got this, go inside or something."

"It's my cabin!" she'd proclaimed crossly, trying to jump just a little higher so she could reach for the handle.

"Yes, and this is a sharp ax you're batting around for," Steve had huffed good-naturedly. "Just let me split it. I'm sure you're unbelievably cute when chopping firewood—"

"Hey!"

"—but it's freezing out and I can get this done a hell of a lot quicker than you can." She'd stuck her tongue out at him, and he'd rolled his eyes, but they both knew that he'd won when she subsided, rolling her eyes right back at him.

So instead of chopping wood, she had tried _really hard_ not to stare at the way his muscles bulged even through the layers of his coat, occupying herself instead with carrying full logs over to him to split.

When they'd come inside from the cold, Darcy had been delighted to see that Bucky had put Tony to work in the kitchen—_fixing_ her appliances, not doing any cooking, because _dear god_ they had all learned that lesson months and months ago—while _Bucky_ cooked something delicious-smelling made out of ingredients she was _sure_ hadn't been brought in by her. The two of them had been bickering happily and brightly, false pouts and smirks and laughter and _all_, over which country's wilderness was more dangerous, Canada or Australia's.

"Both! Both are correct!" Darcy had announced as she barreled in, stomping snow off her boots and barely pausing to struggle them off by the mat. She grabbed her spare set of glasses from a hall shelf and swapped them out with the _supremely_ fogged up pair she'd just been wearing outside. "Australia wins hand's down on the freaky wildlife front, because there are _way_ too many snakes and spiders and crocodiles for my liking out there, holy cow, and probably a plant or two that would eat me too, but you also do _not_ want to get in the way of a polar bear, moose, or wolverine out here, shit no."

"Language," Bucky had teased, just to get a rise out of Steve, and his boyfriend had given it to him with a groan and a smile.

Grinning, Darcy had continued, all while pulling her gloves, tuque, and coat off and piling them in the front hall closet, "As for tundra and arctic cold versus hot as hell desert? Both suck. So. Ergo. I win!"

"That doesn't even make sense, short stack." Tony had scrunched up his nose.

"Hey! What did I say about calling me that!" Darcy had threatened, and with maniacal laughter had launched herself at Tony, who yelped and ran away from her.

What followed was one of the best tickle fights Darcy had ever participated in—mainly because, for once, it hadn't been her getting chased and tickled, but Tony instead. The three of them had mercilessly ganged up on the man, tickling him, holding him down, poking him in the sides until he was crying with reflexive laughter, and begging for them to stop.

_Fuck_, he begged so pretty.

The way the men had looked at Tony, caught in their crosshairs, at their mercy, hands all over him… yep, definitely one of the best tickle fights she'd _ever_ had, and it would be fueling her bedtime activities for the rest of her life.

But the moment had passed and they'd calmed down and cooled off just in time for the oven to beep, and so Bucky had dragged himself out of the pile they'd been curled up in in front of the fireplace to check on the food, before calling them in to sit for a _truly_ delicious casserole that had obviously _not_ come from Darcy's food stores.

Darcy was _stuffed_.

But she was also _happy_, and found she couldn't regret one bit that Tony had been his usual… exuberant and impulsive self when he'd invited himself over.

She was pretty sure even he had relaxed, not worrying much about the Avengers (leaving that to Coulson) or S.I. (leaving that to Pepper). Instead, he'd set his phone aside, for the most part, and had focused those gorgeous doe eyes on those there in the room with him.

Having his full focus, even split between the three of them, was a heady experience.

One she was trying her best to push onto the other two, and away from her.

And now, here they all were, bickering over what movie or three they'd wind down the night with.

* * *

"I'm bored," Tony whined late that night.

"That's the fiftieth time you've said that, I swear," Steve retorted, though there was a fond note to his tone. He didn't move his head from where it was buried in his book, but Darcy could see that Steve's—and Bucky's—eyes had immediately sought Tony out when he spoke.

"Welcome to plebeian vacations, Mr. Billionaire." Darcy raised an eyebrow at him as he turned away from the window. Outside, the winds were picking up and the snow was falling in ever increasing amounts. It wasn't _cold_ by Canadian standards, especially not if there was snow falling, but she knew the temperamental North well enough to hazard a guess that the temperatures would keep plummeting at an ever-increasing rate. Cabin fever weather, but at least they could fly out in the quinjet if there was an emergency.

"I'm not complaining _per se_—" he started, tapping his fingers against his reactor. It was a tell that showed he was feeling anxious, truly anxious, and Darcy softened in sudden understanding.

"You're just feeling cooped up. Yeah, I get it. But I promise the O.P.P. can get to us and that they know I'm up here, and you already know JARVIS is keyed into whatever dregs of a network I have here along with his satellite fix on our location. And this is completely discounting the giant quinjet you landed on the lake—don't worry, it's ridiculously thick and won't be sinking your wings anytime soon." She stuck her tongue out at Tony's slightly panicked expression, and he rolled his eyes at her, easing off on his anxiety.

Over the last year, Darcy had gotten a lot better at calming nervous superheroes. It was a skill she'd never thought she'd need, but it had tapped right into her instinctive and natural caretaker tendencies. It felt _good_ to be able to reach out and effect these powerful people in a way no one else could quite come close to. All the Avengers, even Bruce, told her she was the best at it.

Darcy _loved_ that. It made her heart feel warm and full, and this time was no exception. Her heart brimmed full as Tony's shoulders relaxed and his hand stopped tapping against his reactor, instead falling back down to his side.

"So what do you do around here for fun, doll?" Bucky asked. He was stretched out on the leftmost L of the sectional, and Darcy couldn't help but to think he was doing an on point imitation of a cat lazing in the heat of the fireplace. Figuratively and literally—his skin was starting to glisten and Darcy's mouth went _dry_.

They'd been there for a few hours at least by this point, and Bucky had mainly kept to dozing in the warmth of the fire, looking far too content and comfortable just doing nothing, but Steve's hand was also buried in Bucky's hair, scratching and soothing his scalp as he read through a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he'd brought with him.

Those two had been fairly content to just enjoy doing _nothing_ (a skill likely gained in the war but also part and parcel of their personalities), but Tony… well, Tony had to be entertained when he was in a place he didn't know, she'd come to learn. He hid it well, usually, but she had also taught him _not_ to hide it around her. Around her, Steve, and Bucky.

He was getting a _little_ better at it, at least.

Darcy pulled out her remaining earbud, the sounds of Queen fading from her ears as she stretched out on the rightmost L of the sectional. She tilted her head to the side in thought. "Beer pong?" she asked after a moment.

"What's beer pong?" Bucky asked, as curious as ever.

Cat. _See_?

But Darcy was a shark, and she let that grin spread across her entire face. She met Tony's eyes, and he turned his own predatory grin on the two super soldiers.

* * *

"That," Darcy started, then paused to gather her words. Her brain was honestly just a little fuzzy. Huh. "That is not fair."

"Darlin'," Bucky drawled with a smirk, "you literally challenged Stevie and I, two super soldiers, to a game that requires physical and mental coordination. You know exactly what the serum does."

Steve slung his arm around her waist and Darcy froze, then melted into the embrace just like she used to allow herself to do without thought.

It was a friendly side hug. That's all it was. Freaking out would just call attention to herself.

Oh crap, why hadn't she locked them out of her cabin from the beginning?

Why not? Because _apparently _Darcy Lewis was a masochist.

Tony too, if the way he couldn't help but gravitate towards the other two was any indication, even when his eyes went round every time Steve and Bucky had a tender or intimate moment—_especially_ when said tender or intimate moments were shared with _him_.

He was so fucking hopeless. It was almost _painful_ to watch, both in the '_holy shit I'm embarrassed just watching you'_ way, and in the '_please let me hug you and soothe your sorrows'_ way.

She wasn't sure which way was worse.

"We only played a single game," Tony protested. Darcy was happy to note that his eyes looked rather clear, despite having knocked back just as many beers as she had—well, two each, because Captain Conscience over there had wanted her and Tony to be clear-headed since… actually, Darcy wasn't even sure why.

She huffed and thought for a moment.

She needed to get Tony to admit his feelings for their friends, but she also didn't want him to do it _drunk_. She wanted him to _remember_.

And for Steve and Bucky to have zero excuse to tell Tony that he couldn't possibly mean it. Because they _so_ would. Bucky was _huge_ about consent these days—absolutely understandable, considering everything that had happened to him the last seventy years.

So, brains over alcohol. Got it.

"Alright, no more beer pong. Let's… hm, how about Never Have I Ever?" She held up her free hand to stall both Steve and Bucky's protests. "No alcohol, I promise. It can still be fun."

Darcy smiled up at Steve, who still had his arm around her waist. The look on his face stopped her breath in its tracks. It was hungry and thirsty and needy all at once, something she'd seen him direct at Bucky (and Tony, even, when he thought no one was looking) thousands of times, nothing hidden behind a mask—she knew all of his masks and saw not a hint of any of them in that moment, just bare, simple, _truth_—and Darcy felt as if she'd been punched right in the solar plexus.

He slowly reached up with his free hand, and trailed his fingertips lightly over the skin of her jawline until he could push a strand of her hair away from where it was caught on the edge of her glasses. He tucked it behind her ear, skin brushing hot over its shell and sparks trailing in his wake.

Darcy's lips parted on a harsh breath and his eyes zeroed in on them. His hand framed her jaw, and his thumb swept up her cheek to brush over her bottom lip—

Darcy knew she had to bail. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_, this was not good. Why had they followed her here!? Why had they followed Tony? Damn it!

Taking a large step to the side, Darcy spun around and away so that she could hide her bright red cheeks, the flush of her skin making her feel as if she were on fire.

She may as well be, as far as her hormones (and lascivious lizard hindbrain, it felt like at times) were concerned.

Because holy _fuck_.

No _wonder_ Bucky hadn't stood a chance at resisting this guy's charms. The power of Steve's smolder alone had probably undone like 85% of the torturous conditioning in a single glance, in one fell swoop, because holy _crap_.

She flopped herself down into the inner corner on the left side of the U-shaped sectional, turning to finally look up at the men and hoping against all hope that she wasn't about to be murdered by Bucky—or Tony, for that matter—for preying on their man.

Despite the fact she had done literally nothing but stand there, her thirst was _surely_ tangible.

All three men were staring at her, eyes dark.

Gazes thoughtful.

In Tony's case, _extra_ thoughtful. He looked like he was piecing together parts of a puzzle which had previously been eluding him; as if he'd been given new pieces that connected large sections together.

The question was: _which_ puzzle?

The Brooklyn Boys' love for him? _Please_.

Her love for all three of them? Oh please _no_.

That was too embarrassing even just to think about, them finding out her dirty secret—she was really starting to feel secondhand embarrassment for _herself_.

"Sit down!" Darcy bossed, shoving as much of her usual, chipper, idiot-wrangling self into her voice—and nerves—as she could, and doing her best to ignor that had just happened. Anything.

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other first, then quickly looked to Tony, who was placed so he could catch both their gazes at once, and _something_ passed between them; something that looked born from long years of teamwork on and off the field. Something she had _no clue_ how to translate—

"Holy shit!" she squeaked as she was suddenly lifted into the air in a dizzying (_wonderful and heady_) rush, only to find herself planted in Tony's lap with Steve and Bucky to either side of them, all squished together in the corner of the much larger couch, nearest to the fireplace.

"Language," Steve chastised teasingly, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"I'm inclined to agree, but with whom I'm not sure," Tony grumbled, sounding a little off-kilter.

As if he hadn't realized _he_ had been prey in this right alongside her.

Darcy glanced up, just a little, and met his eyes. He looked about as shaken up as Darcy felt, and no matter how wonderful it was to be sitting on his lap, no matter how many times she'd done it before—all platonic, all wanted, all consensual—if he didn't want her here, right now, then she needed to stop getting lost in his amber eyes and _move_.

As soon as Darcy started to squirm away, his arms tightened around her, one over her lap and the other one curled around the base of her spine, fingers laced around the full curve of her opposite hip. She was sitting sideways, right shoulder pressed against his chest, and he was _warm_. So warm.

As were the two soldiers—living _furnaces_ competing with the blaze of the fire so near to them—who had pressed in just a little tighter at the first sign of her escape attempt.

Before she could even say a word, Tony's gaze sharpened on her, and she froze, words caught on her lips.

Instead of commenting on Darcy's obvious… _feelings_—because how in the world could she hide anymore? she was worn thin, and they had chased her down to her last wall, and she was so very tired of running—Tony, genius that he was, realized she had her back up against the wall… and ignored it all.

_For now_, in all likelihood.

"Never have I ever…" he began slowly, mulling over the words, but said in a way and with a look that made it clear he had changed topics as a _mercy_.

Or 'mercy', she supposed, remembering the darkness of all three of their gazes on her. Darcy fought a blush and looked away as soon as she realized her eyes were riveted on the way Tony dug his teeth into his lips when he was thinking, only to realize that Bucky was giving her a _look_ of his own.

A conspiratorial look.

He winked, and Darcy couldn't tell if she was turning beet red or if she'd gone numb. It felt like it could be either. Or both.

Darcy glanced away, totally off balance but not wanting to move.

If she was going to crash and burn, she may as well enjoy what she could on the way down to hell.

She prayed they would still have a friendship.

"Hm!" Tony finally hummed happily as he came to a decision on what to say for the opening salvo of the game, and Darcy couldn't help but look back at him in anticipation. His clasped hands twitched a little tighter over the soft swell of her hip, and Darcy was so focused on the heat of his hands that she almost missed his next words. "Never have I ever worn a thong."

Bucky choked on a laugh and Darcy couldn't help but grin, the tension easing in her body almost immediately at the absurdity. "Seriously, Tony? You expect us to believe _you_ haven't worn a thong? Nope."

"A hundred percent true, sugar plum," he replied cheekily, grinning right back at her. Their attention was caught, however, by the way Steve was staring Bucky down.

"What?" Bucky shrugged. "Nat's laundry got mixed up with mine. It's not a big deal."

"So you just… wore Nat's panties?" Darcy asked, eyebrows raised right into her bangs as she caught on.

"Eh," Bucky shrugged again, and Steve just started laughing, falling back on the couch cushions to Tony's left, on the side Darcy was facing away from, sitting crosswise on Tony's lap.

His giggling was really cute, even without being able to properly see the way his eyes and nose scrunched right up when he was truly enjoying himself.

"Alright, Barnes," Darcy said around a lump in her throat. "That's a point lost for both of us out of ten."

"I've played before," he replied.

Darcy's eyebrows shot up again. "Okaaaay. That's definitely a story we're getting out of you later. Your turn, though."

"Mine?"

"Age before beauty." Darcy smirked.

Tony yelped in protest and poked her in the side with a finger.

Darcy did _not_ squawk, no sirree. She glared half-heartedly at Tony, and he smiled, unrepentant.

"Never have I ever—" Bucky interrupted them, and Darcy's gaze finally left Tony's and she could _breathe_ again. "—ridden a horse."

"That's one for me," Tony said.

"Me too," Darcy sighed, sticking her tongue out at Bucky.

She looked over her shoulder at Steve, who was a hell of a lot closer than she thought he'd been.

"Never have I ever…" He stuck his tongue out a little as he thought. "...hm, never have I ever had a friends with benefits relationship."

Nobody spoke up.

"That's your point loss," Tony said, his fingers twitching against her hip.

Was that… was that another hand on her hip…? She didn't look—she couldn't, _wouldn't_ dare. She was dreaming, and she didn't want to break the dream, didn't want to break this spell.

Whatever this was, she wanted it. She was too tired of fighting. Of running.

But she also didn't know what to do. She'd never done this before—what if she was misinterpreting any or all of the signs and signals?

"Sure," Steve replied good-naturedly. "Darcy?"

There was a thumb. digging. into. the skin at the base of her spine. Fffffuuuuck.

And Bucky's metal hand was tangled in the hair at the base of Tony's skull. When the fuck did _that_ happen? Tony's eyes fluttered, flashing between open and closed, and a groan was emerging from between his lips and—

"_Never have I ever had anyone fall in love with me_," Darcy gasped out, feeling panicked, her faculties and ideas and plans and schemes completely _deserting_ her.

Leaving in their place a trembling, vulnerable, _scared_ woman—she wasn't scared of _them_, no; more like scared of herself, scared of her feelings.

Everyone froze, Darcy's declaration seeming to echo and grow in the space between them.

Tony's eyes slowly opened, Bucky turned his head just enough to stare her down like he was delving into her soul, and Steve was suddenly pressing against her back, a bare, _searing_ hand at the nape of her neck, not _quite_ sinking his fingers into her hair.

Darcy couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "That wasn't what I meant to say at _all_, it's dumb and pitiful and self-centered, please just ignore that. Me. Ignore me." She paused and breathed in deep, bracing herself as Bucky and Tony narrowed their eyes at her, and Steve's hands threaded into her hair.

"I don't think we should," Steve hummed.

Tony inclined his head in agreement, eyes piercingly perceptive. His silent focus was when he was at his most perceptive, and Darcy couldn't hide anything anymore.

She had no clue what he was seeing, only that he _was_.

"Please," she said again. She felt like she was hovering on the precipice of something, and she wasn't sure if she should let go and fall.

"My loss," she said softly, but then gaining a little more confidence as the men eased back from her. "Tony. Your turn."

It took him nearly a full minute before he stopped taking in every feature of her face.

"Never have I ever punched Hitler in the face." Tony's smile was filled with a soft understanding for her as he started speaking, before he broke off with a yelp as Steve smacked him upside the head.

And with that, the tension broke.

Darcy could _breathe_ again.

The four of them were doubly careful as they continued their game, keeping their questions light and frivolous. Embarrassing but not deep and personal.

Darcy wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, because she got the sense that the three men were just waiting. Waiting for the right opportunity to bring up her careless, thoughtless words.

How they would bring it up, and what they would say when they did, she wasn't sure. But she was nervous. She knew enough about them at this point to know that look in their eyes, that intensity, that charge that had crackled in the air around her.

She tried her best—practice makes perfect, in fact, and she had practiced a _lot_ over the last year—to forget all that, however, and soon lost herself in laughter and love.

They just didn't need to know what _kind_ of love it was.

* * *

It was dark and silent when she woke, but for the bare glow of the dying embers in the fireplace and the soft exhalations of those nearby.

It had been a late night—with completely unexpected company—and there had been a bell that could not be unrung, but she couldn't help but feel… hopeful.

Darcy extricated herself gently from where she was curled up against Bucky's hip on the couch, one of his arms draped across the top of her back. She stretched as tall as she could, rising to her tippy toes and holding in a huge yawn, and then stumbled, half-asleep, towards the bathroom.

Operating mostly on autopilot, she used the facilities and then brushed her teeth, washed her face, and finally brushed her hair out. She hesitated a little at the feel of more knots than usual in the hair at the base of her skull, then felt her skin heat up as she remembered _vividly_ the feel of first Steve's, then Bucky's, then Tony's hands in her hair at different points throughout the night.

Just that. Hands in her hair and nothing else (damn it).

She took a deep breath, suddenly more awake than ever, and then let the breath out in a shuddering exhale before she finished brushing her hair.

Darcy didn't quite know what to do, and she used the time to think as she slowly and quietly walked around the kitchen in search of her phone.

Nope, still drawing a blank.

She powered up her phone, and opened her chat with Natasha, scrolling quickly through the messages she'd missed.

_Natasha: Clint says that Tony walked into the common room and announced that he was taking a vacation, and suddenly we're missing the three idiots._

_Natasha: Did Phase 46 work?_

_Natasha: It better have, I'm getting so tired of their oblivious pining._

_Natasha: Why is the quinjet in Ontario?_

_Natasha: Darcy._

_Natasha: Fuck. Good luck, zaika. You're going to need it. You'll see what I mean._

Darcy blinked at the texts, then typed furiously.

_Darcy: What do you mean 'I'll see what you mean'?_

_Darcy: What is going on._

_Darcy: Nat, I'm losing my mind._

_Darcy: I do NOT know what is going on._

_Darcy: I know you've gone dark but I need you to know where to find my corpse if I die. Die of confusion. Or being strangled for doing something totally inappropriate._

_Darcy: Because yes, you were right, o wise spy. I know you know what I mean. _

_Darcy: If you don't hear from me in two days, send search parties. Notify my paw's parents in Israel. Arrange the funeral. You can have my Harlequin collection; I know you want it._

_Darcy: Okay. Wish me luck._

"Fuck," she muttered to herself, glaring at the phone as she placed it down on the counter again.

She briefly considered hiding in her bedroom for the remainder of their visit here night, but a violent shiver wracked her body. It reminded her immediately of how much the cold affected the soldiers, and she just knew she couldn't, in good conscience, leave the fire to die out because she was a goddamn coward.

She'd faced aliens. Twice. _Crazy_ alien gods. She was friends with a god. Friends with superheroes. She'd stared down Hulk four times and got him to play nice with Pietro and Wanda, despite their rough start.

She could go and put a couple of goddamn logs on and stoke the fire.

"As long as nothing else gets stoked," she grumbled (still so _very_ confused as to what she wanted to do), then padded her way back into the living room.

And immediately Darcy froze, as her eyes, adjusted to the low light already, took in the sight of Steve and Tony.

Specifically, Steve sprawled on his back on the rug in front of the dying fire, arms wrapped around Tony, who was lying fully on top of Steve, hips aligned and legs tangled together. A Tony with no shirt, arc reactor light spilling out from the infinitesimal space between them, his beautiful roadmap of scars (always beautiful, he insisted; never bad, and at worst a lesson to remember to make the right choices in the future) etched in the flickering light and shadows dancing across his back, and his face buried in Steve's throat.

Steve, whose eyes were open and peering through the darkness right at her.

Seeing her and _seeing_ her.

She couldn't move, even as Bucky rose slowly from the couch to cut through the growing darkness to add more wood to the fire, stoking the flames with sure, steady, knowledgeable movements. Movements she could recognize even through her peripherals, she was so attuned to every small detail of what was going on in front of her.

Even as Bucky turned around, Darcy stood frozen in the doorway. She watched, wide-eyed, as he smiled down at Tony, who was sprawled across _his boyfriend_ as if it were no big deal—or rather, as if it were the most amazing thing in the world.

Steve turned his face just enough so he could brush his lips over Tony's own (Darcy _stared_ and etched every single line of that image into her memories), one hand coming up to comb through the messy dark brown locks.

It looked like Steve and Bucky had finally made their move—too bad she'd obviously been asleep when it'd happened. She would've _loved_ to see how that had finally played out. But right now she was loving what she saw right in front of her, so she shoved aside her overactive imagination and _focused_.

Bucky stayed on his feet, looking between her, Steve, and Tony. Finally, Tony's voice broke the silence, broke the stand-off, broke their detente…

… and _completed_ the picture for her, for all of them. Tony's words completed the jumbled lines and connections which had lain between all four of them, useless but _there_.

Tony's words connected the damn dots. _Finally_.

"You were wrong," Tony said, voice husky and low and _awed_, as if he couldn't quite believe any of this either. "Your 'never have I ever'. You were wrong." He swallowed, and met her eyes with all the honesty he could bring to bear. "You're loved. I love you. These great lugs here love you. And me, apparently. I'm a goddamn idiot, can you believe it?" He gasped as Steve brushed his lips over Tony's once more, this time with a quick nip of his teeth and a glint in his eye. But still he didn't say anything, letting Darcy search Tony's eyes fully, _believing _him when he finished, "We love you. And we want to make you c—_ohhhh…_!"

In one smooth but absolutely _predatory_ movement—Darcy's brain nearly short-circuited with arousal—Bucky knelt down and _buried_ his metal hand in Tony's hair, his right hand sweeping possessively over the length of Tony's back, his ass, and as much of his legs as he could reach before returning back up again. Darcy didn't dare blink (she didn't want to miss a thing, hell no) as Bucky twisted Tony's hair in the best possible way to get a sub—she'd barely even noticed, even after all these years, but it was so _obvious_ now—to react positively and vocally.

If their Doms allowed them to vocalize, that is.

And it looked like Bucky wanted it, Steve too, eyes flashing as he encouraged more and more varied (beautiful, gorgeous, _filthy_) responses from Tony's beautiful mouth.

Tony gasped as his head was pulled back hard, his own hands in turn digging mercilessly into Steve's shoulders. Darcy's eyes widened, but she could _see_ the way Tony squirmed—so _very_ beautifully—against Steve, hips bucking, as Bucky ran his right hand down the side of Tony's gorgeously arched neck again, so she knew (there was not a single shred of doubt left in her) that Tony _loved it_.

Something to remember for later, she thought a little giddily, and she braced the heel of her palm against her sternum in an effort to still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Steve gripped Tony's hips with both of his large hands, and caught Darcy's eyes again as they flew towards him at his next words.

Steve's words had her stepping forward, into the living room, into their arms, and into a world and life she'd only ever expected to find in her dreams and on television.

Steve's words had her stepping into a world of firsts—dating, for one, pitiful as she was. Not her first kiss, but damn near close enough as to make no difference. And her first basically-everything-else-in-said-category.

(And yet) Steve's words soothed her trepidation and made her eyes light up in anticipation and joy and love and amazement.

Steve's words rid her of an old fear; that she would never be able to experience the full joy (and joyous it was _indeed_, she learned) of loving and _being loved_ by more than one person at once, and soothed the fear that one of them would feel left out, somehow (not here, not now, not _them_).

Steve's words both scared her and thrilled her.

The thrill won out, and the promise of honesty, love, communication, and _worship_ in his eyes sealed the promise in his words and in all three of their eyes, trained on her with great intensity.

"Come to bed, Darcy," Steve rumbled, and Tony whimpered in appreciation, eyes fluttering shut under Bucky's beautifully unyielding, beautifully _powerful_ grip on his hair. "For one night or a thousand and more nights, whatever you choose, sweetling. Come to bed. With _us_."

Darcy didn't hesitate for even a second as she stepped into the warmth of the room and the heat and love of their embrace.


End file.
